Intoxicating, isn’t it?
The way my scent snakes up your nostrils,
Slipping in between your fingers
and the locks of your hair
as you dance for me.
You are losing yourself.
Don’t you know that is what love is?
Falling into someones scent like
Bees falling dead to the ground.
The seemingly endless curling up and up,
Until you are
falling down and
Everything else is merely a whisper,
A shadow of smoke in candlelight.
You weep white roses at my feet;
As Perfect Love means giving yourself over to me
Madness and Beauty
is the dance you are pounding out with your feet,
it is your breath growing faster and harder,
as your hips buck and sway.
Everything is a drumbeat
waiting to be danced,
until you collapse
at my feet.
Copyright 2012 of Nightshade author of The Purple Broom